


stars in the sky (nothing really matters now)

by deadseasburntoutstars (snowontherooftops)



Series: homestuck character studies [3]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Character Study, Drinking, Gen, The regular kind, Underage Drinking, hello naughty children its depression time, i love rose lalonde, rose is a baby lesbian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-17 10:25:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11849640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowontherooftops/pseuds/deadseasburntoutstars
Summary: Your mother comes home drunk for the fifth time this week. You are starting to become numb to it.





	stars in the sky (nothing really matters now)

Your mother is in her bedroom, and she's drunk. It's alright, really. Tomorrow, or whenever her drunken streak ends, she'll be ashamed, and make promises that she'll immediately break, and try to supplicate your teenage heartbreak and willingness to call Child Protective Services, if you think she's gotten out of hand, with gifts. She'll get you a new dress, pink and frilly, the type you know she knows you hate, or your favorite candy from five years ago, or maybe another cat. Jasper's been dead enough to make that appropriate, right?

In truth, it's not really alright. You wish your mother could put down the bottle for long enough to actually be a person, instead of this weak facade she fronts to every one who gets to close to knowing that maybe the pristine Ms. Lalonde, PhD, is not the perfect person that she pretends so desperately to be. That maybe her daughter isn't alright herself, that maybe, just maybe the all knowing Rose Lalonde does not know how to fix this, and that maybe sometimes she feels like she's drowning in things she does not know and cannot fix.

(maybe sometimes your mother makes her fifth glass of vodka look so good that you consider trying some yourself)

Maybe, maybe, maybe.

But you are far too old to believe in wishes, as you must keep repeating to your mother every passing birthday, or at least the ones she remembers. To old to believe in fairy tales, like the ones your mother tries to spin about one day really quitting for good and getting help. She'll never really do it, because that would require telling people that she isn't perfect, that she's a person with flaws, just like every other person who's ever lived, and your mother is not just anyone who's ever lived, she's a Lalonde, and Lalondes are nothing if not perfect.

(does that make you nothing?)

Okay, so sometimes when you take a sip from one of your mothers many arrays of fine wines and liquors, it's more of a gulp, and sometimes, you sneak a glass or two, but it fucking makes you feel good, okay?

(makes you numb, and that's what happiness is, right? the absence of sadness)

It doesn't matter, because it's not really a _thing_ , per say, and if you feel like your dying if you don't have something to numb the all encompassing depression that threatens to overwhelm you the second you show the slightest hint of weakness, that's your problem and no one else's.

And sometimes, there are things you don't want to worry about, or think about, because thinking is uncomfortable and can do more harm than good. You don't want to think about yourself, and why you're not like other girls, why you don't want a boyfriend, why the very thought of having one makes you feel pressed in, enclosed, too fucking small for all the space you're surrounded with.

You think of the stars, centers of their own universe, unaware of anything but their own immense beauty. Humans are more like stars than anyone gives them credit for, different and beautiful for it, axis's revolving around every minuscule problem they have, unable to look outside themselves and realize that the planets are there, that the entirety of the universe is there, that you are really nothing in the face of it all. 

Your problems die with you, and you will die so quickly that, to the stars, it'll be like you never existed at all. What is your life, in the face of theirs? Is there anything more beautifully comforting than the thought that you are not important, that nothing is, that in the end, everyone dies and means nothing? That makes everything okay, doesn't it?

Doesn't it?

You are not a star. You don't think you want to be, the center of your universe, flaws glaringly obvious, ever present and long lasting. Humans are like stars, but you are thankful that, however beautiful the thought may be, they are not actually stars themselves. It's just beautiful bullshit spun by a girl trying not to become dust in the ground under the weight of her own thoughts, problems revolving around her like planets around suns. You may or may not be that girl. You may or may not be yourself, in truth. The mere concept of personhood is absurd, and you demand it be done away with immediately. Who decided that this was alright? How was this ever deemed a good, necessary thing?

If the gods are real, they are surely laughing at you.

There is a reason you do not go to church.

(it's because you're afraid)

You don't want God to be real, because that would mean that everything happened for a reason, that you went through this and felt this pain, that you will always be feeling this pain, on purpose. As part of a plan. As something that was _supposed_ to happen, and you cannot believe that. With every bone in your body, you choose not to believe that.

Personally, you think that the concept of gods was created by scared children looking for explanations, for a reason to live, for answers. There is no God, only scared, trembling children stumbling around in the dark pretending they've found the light switch.

There is no light switch, there is no light, there are no answers. People want to believe there are rules, and if you follow them you will be emitted into paradise, but they're wrong. When we die, we all end up in the same place, every sinner and every soccer mom, whether you go to church on Sundays or fast during Ramadan, there is one thing tying us all together, and that is we all end up in the fucking ground, and to pretend otherwise is a cruelty beyond words.

You might have gotten a little off topic.

You do that, when you get drunk.

(you might be a little drunk.)

Your mother is upstairs, in her bedroom, and you can tell that she's passed out, the silence ringing through your house and around your head, like rings around a planet. you feel tired too. You'll just take a little nap. What else there to do, think? Ha!

(you'd rather die.) 

**Author's Note:**

> maybe the kids really arent alright.


End file.
